


Take Me to Church

by aveotardis



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Church Sex, M/M, Prompt Fill, marcus loves tomas, set in season one, turns out tomas also loves marcus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 02:10:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12378696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveotardis/pseuds/aveotardis
Summary: Prompts filled:-Tomas has had dreams/visions of Marcus, what about the other way around?-Jessica catches them-Altar sex





	Take Me to Church

**Author's Note:**

> I posted these prompts and started this fic almost a year ago. Yeah, it took me this long to finish it. My bad. I went through a long bout of writer's block. 
> 
> If you'd like to see the Tumblr post and do some of the other prompts or the ones I'm doing, please feel free to: https://aveotardis.tumblr.com/post/152104246612
> 
> Also, I'm not Catholic so I looked up stuff about the altar. Wikipedia said that the marble table is also called an altar or a stone altar. IDK. Please correct me if you know what its called. I didn't describe it because I'm lazy as fuck but you can see it a few times on the show. I know it's in episode one but I can't remember others right off the top of my head.

The first time Marcus dreamed of Tomas it gave him hope. 

The room was pitch black, cavernous and yet claustrophobic. But Marcus could see Tomas in a single beam of light. His face full of terror, a scream stuck in his throat. A young woman, possessed, leaped on Tomas, throwing him to the ground, huddled over him with dark eyes and a sharp grin. 

Marcus woke with a start, eyes flying open. His breath was heaving as though he had run a mile. Sweat covered his skin, permeated his shirt. He sat up in his small bed and peeled off the offending article of clothing. The cold night air pinched at his damp skin. 

For eighteen months Marcus had been asking for a sign from God. He thought that Tomas coming to him - telling him of the dream, the girl in his perish that might be possessed - was it. But this was it. This is what he was waiting for. He looked to the wall beside him, to the faded outline of where a cross had once been. And smiled.

\--

The second time Marcus dreamed of Tomas he was sleeping on the couch in the younger man’s apartment.

Tomas was naked and laying wanton on his bed, back arched, brow beaded with sweat. Marcus stood in the door way and watched as Tomas stroked his cock slowly up and down. Tomas did not break eye contact as he moaned and panted.

“Join me?” Tomas pleaded. Marcus felt his cock harden, blood rushing away from his brain. Marcus was on the bed, straddling Tomas and stripping off his shirt in record time. He ran his hands over lean muscle. Goosebumps rose over Tomas’ skin. Marcus leaned down, his lips hovered and just as they were about to descend Marcus woke. 

For a moment he forgot where he was. In the distance he could hear the ever constant sound of car horns that plagued the city. His cock was still hard, arousal still pumped through his veins. He laid there in the dark, breathing deeply, trying to quell his dream. He had no idea how much time passed, but soon his heartbeat was regular, his cock gone soft. 

Marcus stood and paced around the living room, looking toward the bedroom every so often. He ran his hands through his short hair, over his face. No matter how much he tried to push it away, the dream kept resurfacing. Finally, he strode to the bedroom, the door open a crack. Marcus pushed it open further and tried to keep it from squeaking. 

There on the bed, bathed in the soft light of the street lamps that filtered in the window, was Tomas. He was laying on his back, his head tilted to the side so Marcus could just make out his features, the sheets twisted around his legs, arms splayed out. Marcus lingered in the door and watched Tomas as he slept. 

“Don’t be an idiot,” he whispered to himself. He knew better, always knew better. There were rules to being an exorcist, strict rules that he and the church had implemented. It wasn’t the vow of chastity that bothered him, he usually played fast and loose with his priestly vows. Most of the sex was with strangers in alleys or hotel rooms, usually in celebration of a demon sent back to hell. Never more than relieving tension. 

This, this was different. Tomas was different. He was fucking beautiful, that much was a given, but it was more than that, more than just sex that Marcus wanted. He didn’t want to just fuck Tomas and run as he had every other person. He wanted Tomas to run with him. Or to stay in Chicago. It wasn’t so bad. Skyscrapers so beautiful it set the mind to wonder, jazz music on the street corners, speakeasies still hiding in the dark, and enough restaurants to gorge on for a hundred years. 

“Fuck,” Marcus whispered to the dark. He couldn’t have that, any of that. He was here to do a job. Whatever he was feeling for Tomas was insignificant compared to the work he would have to do. It was a weapon to be used not by him, but against him. Besides, he knew Tomas would never feel the same. He was in love with someone else. A woman. 

“Fuck,” Marcus repeated, as he sat back down on the couch and put his head in his hands. He closed his eyes and rubbed them with the heel of his hand as though trying to force out the image of a very naked, very aroused Tomas. He knew he would not, could not sleep again. So, he opened his Bible and turned on the television and drowned out his dream.

\--

The third dream Marcus had of Tomas was a warning. 

He was in Casey’s bedroom only all the furniture was gone, pillows boarded up to the windows, dirty mattress on the floor and the wall. Tomas stood in the center, back to Marcus. His head was bowed in prayer so Marcus could not see his face. On the floor at his feet was Casey, hair in her face.

The light above flickered. It was hot and humid, the air clung to skin, sweat pooled at his hairline and the base of his spine. Tomas was reading from the Bible in his hands. A spool of words that made no sense. Casey made soft, breathy noises from the floor.

“Tomas?” Marcus called to him. There was no response, nothing to even suggest that Tomas had heard him. But Casey seemed to. She lifted her head and looked directly at him. Her eyes were dark red and when her lips spread in a smile - rotted teeth peeked out from dry, chapped lips. The demon within her began to chuckle.

Marcus knew what would happen before it did. He reached out a hand to grab for Tomas, but too late. The demon sprung forward, hands around the young priest’s neck. She had been tied up with nothing more than bed sheets. They fell away from her wrists with ease. 

Marcus tried to move but found his feet firmly cemented to the floor. The demon looked up to him as it squeezed harder. Marcus paid no attention, his eyes too focused on Tomas, on his sharp and useless gasps for breath. His face began to grow red, the vein in the side of his head bulged. Still, Marcus’s feet would not move. He watched, helpless, as the demon choked the life from Tomas. Marcus fell to his knees as the last breath escaped the young man’s lips. The demon stood, towered over the body as it turned blue, pale, cold.

\--

Marcus woke in a sweat, cold and shaking, a scream still on his lips. After his ears stopped ringing he heard low voices. The Regos were awake, attempting to be quiet so as not to wake him. He tried to focus on their voices, on his breathing. And he knew what he had to do. Tomas would die alone. 

“Woah, look who’s up,” Lester said as Marcus stepped out of the small extra room. He handed Marcus a full mug of coffee. 

“Obliged,” Marcus took the mug. It felt like there was a rock sitting in his gut, but he still drank, trying to burn the feeling away. 

“What’s on the docket for today?” Cherry asked from the dining table. Spread across it were the various newspaper clippings they had been looking through the night before. 

“Back to the sisters, it seems I’m in need of a refresher course,” Marcus gave a limp smile and downed the rest of his coffee.

\--

While in his jail cell Marcus did not so much dream of Tomas as he had constant, unending thoughts of him. Anytime he tried to think of Casey, the nearly successful exorcism, his mind would take him back to Tomas. Tomas on his knees before the demon. Throwing Tomas out of the room. Telling Tomas he was useless. But he had become a liability, all because of some woman. A woman, Marcus was certain, Tomas had gone to that night, or perhaps the night after.

Though he would never admit it out loud, Marcus had expected Tomas to come to the jail to see him, especially after the news of Casey escaping custody broke. But three days and nothing. Somehow Marcus knew it had to be Jessica. Stupid, foolish Tomas. Stupid, foolish Marcus.

\--

“I should get back to St. Anthony’s,” Tomas said as he sipped his beer and made no move to leave.

“The night is young,” Marcus argued. The demon was gone. Casey was alive. They had won. He felt centered for the first time since Mexico City. Life had come together in a perfect storm, it had bumps, but in the end they had been victorious. They had been giddy as schoolboys when they had strode into the bar. Marcus tried to notice when Tomas would lean close or touch him or laugh just a little too loud.

Tomas leaned closer and looked at Marcus through his eyelashes, “Come with me.”

Something rolled in Marcus’ stomach, not entirely unpleasant. He looked sideways at Tomas, waiting for the man to claim he was joking. He did not, he just smiled and sipped at his beer.

“Yeah,” Marcus replied, voice suddenly thicker. They drained their bottles, left a tip for the bartender, and left, shoulders bumping as they walked out. 

During the walk to the church Tomas told Marcus about his childhood – his parents’ divorce, his move to Mexico, his grandmother – and about Jessica. Marcus was right, the night of the exorcism Tomas had gone to her. He could sense the level of despair Tomas felt over the affair. But that did not stop Tomas from leaning into Marcus slightly as he opened the door to St. Anthony’s. 

Before walking in, Marcus pinched himself to make certain he wasn’t dreaming. 

“I don’t love her,” Tomas said with certainty. “It was the memories that I loved.”

“Something beautiful,” Marcus murmured, knew Tomas could hear him. Tomas nodded. They went to the altar and sat at the top step. Their sides flush against one another. A warmth spread over Marcus that he knew had nothing to do with alcohol. 

“It was a mistake,” Tomas admitted. “But a necessary one. I had to know.”

“And do you?” Marcus asked, turning so his knee rested against Tomas’ thigh. “Do you know what you want?”

“I know,” Tomas whispered. He looked down at his hands for a moment and Marcus feared he had read the entire situation wrong. “I want you.”

Marcus felt his stomach roll and tighten into a knot. His heart stuttered. Tomas looked to him, his brow creased with worry, uncertainty. Neither made a move, stuck in limbo. Tomas was giving Marcus the choice. He knew what he wanted, what he had been dreaming of. But once he – they – stepped off that precipice there was no going back.

“And if it turns out to be a mistake, too?” Marcus asked in a small voice. Tomas reached out for him, took his hand, ran his thumb over Marcus’ knuckles. 

“God brought us together for a reason. I didn’t know what it was, at first. I thought it might be to help the Rance family.” He looked up into Marcus’s eyes. “But I think we’re supposed to be together.”

Marcus laughed, “What makes you so certain?”

Tomas hesitated for a moment. He looked away, back down to their hands.

“When I was with her, I thought of you,” he confessed. Marcus was unsure if he wanted some sort of absolution, if he even thought it to be a sin. “Your face, your hands, your voice.”

Marcus took his free hand and cupped Tomas’s face, bringing it up to look at him once more. He tried to find the right words, but there was nothing. He had always been a man of action anyway. So, he leaned forward and captured Tomas in a kiss. His lips were warm, soft, inviting. As he slipped his tongue past he could taste remnants of the beer they had at the bar. Tasting it on Tomas’s tongue was far more preferable.

In an instance, Tomas had his hands all over – sloping down his shoulders, running up his arm, skimming over his cloth-covered ribs. Marcus was in too much shock to reciprocate, his hand remaining on Tomas’s cheek.

Tomas broke the kiss. “Touch me, Marcus.”

He did not need to be told twice. The hand that had been on Tomas’s face went to bury into his hair. The other hand went to the hem of the younger man’s shirt, pulling it out of his pants, and finding the warm flesh underneath. Tomas moaned.

“Is the door locked?” Marcus asked, breathless.

Tomas moved to straddle is hips, wrapping one arm around his shoulders. Marcus looked up at him, the flickering candlelight cast him in a soft glow. He felt his erection strain against his too tight jeans. 

“No one will be here this late,” Tomas whispered. He kissed Marcus on the side of jaw, underneath his ear, over his pulse point. He licked a stripe from his collarbone to the lobe of his ear, where he bit down softly.

Marcus knew he should argue; if anyone were to walk in, to find them Tomas’s career would be over. Tomas kissed him again, driving away the thought. Marcus melted into the kiss. It was rough and sweet and he would never be able to get enough of it until the day he died. He only hoped to be lucky enough to find out. 

There was a flurry of hands and fingers, clothes peeled off and tossed aside. A small hesitation when it came to Tomas’s collar but it joined the rest of the clothes just the same. Marcus hastily unzipped the fly of Tomas’s pants. He steadied his shaking fingers as he closed them around the already leaking cock. 

Tomas closed his eyes and tilted his head back. “Dios mio.”

“Might not want to bring His attention to us right now.” Tomas laughed. He opened his eyes and leaned his forehead against Marcus’s. 

Tomas stood abruptly, pulling Marcus up with him. They stumbled back until Marcus hit the stone altar. Tomas let his pants and underwear fall to his feet where he struggled to toe off his shoes and escape the confines of his clothes. He stood naked before Marcus, who drank in the sight of him; his defined muscles, the hair on his chest that lead down to his cock. 

Marcus had been on his knees in a church plenty of times. He doubted very highly this was as acceptable as the others. But the second he wrapped his lips around Tomas’s straining cock he could have cared less for anything else. Fuck, he wanted to choke himself on it. Most of the times he would be in a hurry, wanting both himself and his partner to get off quickly, tuck themselves back in, and be on their way before anyone had even noticed they were gone. But he no longer had a collar hanging around his neck like a noose. 

He licked the head, into the slit, around the hood. Tomas was salty and musky. Marcus wanted to feel the weight of him against his tongue. So he did. He pushed his lips over flesh, down until the head of Tomas’s cock pushed against the back of his throat. Marcus tried to breathe to keep himself from choking.

“Fuck,” Tomas mumbled. Marcus looked up to see the other man’s eyes were closed, lips parted slightly. Marcus pulled back, sucked lightly at the head, ran his tongue down the shaft. Tomas continued mumbling in Spanish, interrupted every now and again by Marcus’s name. Marcus sucked back down again, hitting the back of his throat, this time taking Tomas a little further. 

He felt hands on his shoulders, digging nails into skin. They were uncoordinated at first, but soon he got the gist. He let Tomas fall out of his mouth with a wet pop. The hands on his shoulders pulled him up. He was greeted immediately with Tomas’s eager mouth. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Tomas whimpered. Marcus could not form words, nearly coming in his pants at the mere idea Tomas presented. 

“I don’t have-”

“Here,” Tomas leaned down and pulled out a packet of lube from his pocket. Marcus lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve been wanting this for a while.”

“And here I thought I was the only one.”

Marcus took the packet. He maneuvered Tomas so that he was against the marble altar, kissed him deeply, before hoisting him up on the top. Tomas spread his legs and Marcus took the invitation, standing between them. As Marcus began to kiss Tomas again, he made hasty work of his pants and underwear, letting them pool at his feet. He tore the packet open with his teeth, coating his fingers.

“Are you sure?” he asked Tomas as his fingers skirted the ring of muscle at Tomas’s entrance. 

“God, yes.”

Marcus kissed him, pushed his index finger inside, and swallowed the small sound Tomas made. He slowly moved the finger in and out a few times before adding a second, a third. He buried them up to his last knuckle, felt Tomas squeeze around them. 

“Fuck!” Marcus cried.

“Yes, that is the idea,” Tomas monotone. Marcus slapped him playfully on the arm, both smiling. Marcus took the fingers out. He stared Tomas in his deep, thoughtful brown eyes. He could lose himself in those eyes. He wanted to, never wanted anything else for as long as he lived. 

“I love you, Tomas,” Marcus blurted before his mind could catch up with his mouth. For a moment, brief and terrifying, Tomas looked taken aback. Marcus was about to explain, to say it was just a joke, but then Tomas smiled. It lit up the whole world. All the darkness and horror Marcus had ever known was banished.

“Te amo, Marcus,” Tomas whispered against his lips. “Now fuck me.”

Marcus used what was left in the packet, slicking up his straining cock. Guiding with his hand, he pushed into Tomas. The younger man wrapped his legs around Marcus’s hips and threw his head back a little too harshly against the table top. 

Slowly, Marcus pushed in, somehow managing to keep himself from shoving and taking. By the time he bottomed out every nerve in his body was singing. He shuffled slightly closer and put his hands on Tomas’s hips. He drew back until the tip was all that still resided and then shoved back in. Tomas let out a grunt, but made no sign to stop. Marcus pistoned his hips, slowly, achingly. Tomas moaned, his fingers scrambled against the marble surface of the altar, finding no purchase. He stretched to grasp the edges instead. Marcus leaned down and kissed along Tomas’s clavicle, up his stretched neck. The fingers that were clasping his hips would leave bruises. And when Marcus bit into the junction of his neck and shoulder Tomas shuddered around him.

“Tomas,” Marcus whispered. For a moment he stopped, buried deep inside Tomas. Sweat rolled down Marcus’s temple. He smiled down at Tomas, who could not help but smile back up. Marcus fucked back into him with renewed vigor. Every dream he had was nothing in comparison to the real thing: Tomas’s warm body, his small gasps, the fire blazing in his eyes. 

Tomas arched his back, lifted his left leg slightly further – sparks flew behind his eyes. Marcus grasped harder at Tomas’s hips, digging nails into flesh. He kept a demanding pace, pounding into the younger man, hitting his prostate. Tomas felt a warm buzz build at the base of his spine, welling up to an almost torturous tingle. Marcus began a punishing, staccato rhythm. He saw white stars blast at the backs of his eyes, a swell of heat rise in his gut, and a lightning bolt strike through his spine. He pushed deep inside Tomas and came with a curse. Tomas followed quickly after, painting his stomach with his release. 

“What the fuck?!” a startled voice yelled, echo bouncing off the church walls. Marcus and Tomas turned to the voice. Jessica.

“Shit,” Tomas whispered. He made no move to push Marcus away, however. He still laid atop the altar, Marcus’s softening cock still inside him.

“Tomas?” Jessica whispered. She slowly moved closer on unsteady legs. “What in the hell is going on?”

She asked like there was no way she could be seeing what she was seeing. A nervous smile even crept up to her lips, waiting for the punchline. The two men slowly moved away from one another, Marcus pulling his pants back up, wincing at the feel of fabric against his far too sensitive skin. 

“Jessica,” Tomas began. He got down from the altar, covering his modesty with his hands. Marcus handed him the pants they had so carelessly tossed aside. “Jessica,” Tomas said again. He still struggled with what to say. 

“Who is this, Tomas?” Jessica asked. 

“My name is Marcus,” Marcus chimed in, holding his hand out and smiling. She blinked owlishly at him and crossed her arms in front of her chest. He let his hand fall.

“Who- What-“ Jessica seemed unable to form any kind of coherency. The scene she had walked into finally beginning to sink in. But it could not have been so. Tomas was hers, she would leave Jim, finally, and be with Tomas. They would have their happiness.

“Marcus is-” Tomas buttoned up his shirt. He cast his look to the older man, who had sunk his head low and turned in his shoulders. “I love him.” The words were more for Marcus than they were for Jessica.

“That’s absurd,” Jessica argued. She stepped closer, mouth opening and closing like a fish, mind reeling. “You and I…me and you…we…we belong together.”

“No, Jessica.”

“Tomas…”

“I thought I loved you,” Tomas interrupted her. “But it was the memory of us, the thought of it. I knew it the night we…” he looked to Marcus who eyed him carefully, “…made love. It wasn’t you I wanted and couldn’t have.” Marcus smiled.

Jessica rolled her hands into small fists, looked away, shook her head. There were tears beginning to well in her eyes and even Marcus felt a little sorry for her. He felt Tomas lace his fingers in his and the feeling was gone. 

“I’m sorry,” Tomas whispered. Jessica looked up with tears and hatred on her face.

“No, Tomas, you aren’t,” she said through gritted teeth, “but you will be.” 

With that and a loud thud of the door, she was gone. Tomas stood dumbfounded, hair mussed, lips still red, skin still flushed.

“Well, I suppose that could have gone better,” Marcus quipped. Tomas sent him a look that Marcus should not have smiled at but did anyway. Tomas walked away from him, turned his back, raked a hand through already messy hair. His shoulders slump, his crestfallen face, and Marcus’s smile vanished. He worried that perhaps Tomas had been caught up in the moment and now regretted what had happened. Marcus reached out and let his fingers encircle Tomas’s wrist. He did not pull away.

“I can’t stay here,” Tomas whispered. He cast a sullen gaze around the church, picked up his collar and ran an absent hand over it. 

“We can go back to your place,” Marcus tried to soothe him. Tomas shook his head.

“No, I can’t stay in Chicago,” Tomas bit back. Marcus felt the ground fall from below him. Tomas would have to leave his home, his family, his life. All because of Marcus.

“You could…we could…” Marcus cut himself off. There was no “we” in this scenario. Never was, never would be. Stupid, foolish Marcus. He let go of Tomas. “I’ll go.” 

Tomas turned his head so fast Marcus thought he might be possessed. He must have seen. Seen in Marcus’s face, in his eyes, in the sad way he held his posture; like a man lost at sea with no hope of salvation. Tomas was shaking his head and grabbed Marcus with fierceness, his hands digging into his shoulders.

“No, no, no,” he whispered, placing a more gentle hold on the back of Marcus’s neck. He kissed Marcus softly, reassuringly. “You go, I go.”

“You go, I go,” Marcus repeated with a smile. 

“Whatever we do, wherever we go, we do it together,” Tomas kissed him again. Marcus rested his forehead against his. “I love you, Marcus.”

Marcus laughed. He was sure this was a dream, had to be. There was no way this wonderful, beautiful man could be saying those words to him. Words he had never, not once in his life, not from his mother and certainly not from his father, ever heard. For the first time he was glad he had never heard them. Glad that Tomas was the first. Hoped he would be the last. Wanted him to be the only one to ever say them.

Whatever hell there was to pay, here on earth or in another life, Marcus was willing to face it. He would jump into the flames if it meant one more second with Tomas. 

“Let’s go, leave Chicago, tonight,” Marcus said, warm breath ghosting Tomas’s lips. Tomas closed his eyes and gave a small nod of his head.

“Alright,” he whispered back. A kiss. Marcus could get used to that. They could leave this behind, all of this. Or he could train Tomas. Or they could live in the Appalachian foothills. Or they could buy a ranch. They could do whatever the fuck they wanted to do.

Marcus felt his phone vibrate in his pants pocket. He should have known better. He took it out. Bennett. For a moment he considered not answering it. Tomas wordlessly coaxed him to. 

“Yeah,” Marcus answered and cleared his throat.

“We have a problem,” Bennett said. He really should have known better. Marcus could never walk away. And nothing was ever truly finished. Stupid, foolish Marcus. 

It was just beginning.


End file.
